


Camilla Hughes and the Black Dragon's Brood

by Benjamin_Winter



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dom/sub, F/M, Female Protagonist, Fluff and Smut, Fsub, Gratuitous Smut, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Light Dom/sub, Oral Sex, Smut, Teen Romance, Teenagers, Vaginal Sex, mdom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 11:06:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8842315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Benjamin_Winter/pseuds/Benjamin_Winter
Summary: In the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, quiet Gryffindor student Camilla Hughes is the secret, longtime girlfriend of accomplished Slytherin Head Boy Nicholas Thorne. With the end of their final year nearing them, they agree to meet overnight in secret, as they often have before, but when they do, Camilla discovers that this night will be different from the ones before it.Based on J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter series.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Everyone who gives kudos has my heartfelt thanks. I do read all comments, so feel free to leave one.

          The Gryffindor table was a sea of the house’s colors, of black and red and gold, red-and-gold ties tucked under gray vests, red-lined black robes that flowed to the students’ ankles, and gold scarves that warded off the cold. Laughter and chatter filled Hogwarts’ Great Hall, but it was a breakfast of somewhat less mirth than the usual. The school year was drawing to a close. The younger students were bracing for the disappointment of another year of Hogwarts being behind them. The fifth-years fussed over their O.W.L. exams, but the students in their seventh and final year fretted far more, fearful of the looming threat of the terror-inspiring N.E.W.T.s.  
  
          Perhaps the most fretful of the seventh-year Gryffindor students was Camilla Hughes, a thin, fair-skinned girl with golden hair and cheeks kissed by a row of light freckles. Camilla spent the morning doing as she always did when uncertainty struck her: she studied. A natural bookworm, she spent her breakfast with her nose buried in tomes and manuscripts, her blue eyes flitting over the words of the pages at a rapid pace, her pale, slender fingers swiftly flipping from one page to the next. She paused only on occasion, only to stuff a forkful of syrup-drizzled pancakes into her mouth, or to answer the question of a friend seated beside her. Camilla’s long, gold-blonde hair wasn’t half as well-brushed as she would’ve liked it when she’d awoken that morning, but sacrifices had to be made. She knew full well that the next few weeks would decide the rest of her life. She was just grateful she wasn’t cramping.  
  
          When Camilla’s eyes happened to glance to the table she faced, the Slytherin table, her eyes of course came to rest on Nicholas Thorne. How couldn’t they? His shock of curly, midnight-black hair was effortlessly flawless, and the sight of it always struck Camilla with joy _and_ envy. His green eyes and white teeth shone brilliantly as he smiled. His complexion was Camilla’s, white and pale, unfriendly to the sun. Naturally, there were no Gryffindor colors on his attire, no red or gold, but only the sinister Slytherin green. His polished gray-and-green Head Boy badge shone on his chest, and Nicholas wore it no less with a sense of duty than he did with a sense of pride.  
  
          A moment after Camilla’s eyes came to him, by happenstance, Nicholas looked in her direction, and their gazes met. When his eyes came to rest on hers, his smile softened as his eyes hardened. It was a look Camilla had seen before, and she knew it well. It only ever meant one thing. Nicholas wanted to see her tonight. Camilla and Nicholas were secret sweethearts, and though their nighttime rendezvous were once a common occurrence, their studying had kept them from being intimate for the past few weeks. But that hiatus was finally coming to an end. Camilla knew that her heart would be fluttering in her chest for the rest of the day.  
  
          Camilla didn’t share any of her classes with Nicholas that morning, but he never once left her mind, and she spent the next few hours daydreaming of him.  
  
          To put it in one word, Nicholas was a prodigy. To put it in many more, he was stunning, astounding, incredible, fantastical ... and dreamy. He was a handsome young man to be sure, with a shapely nose, a curved, masculine jaw, and an unblemished, clean-shaven face, but, believe it or not – and Camilla had a hard time believing it herself – his looks were dwarfed by his accomplishments. He had top marks through all classes, through all years. He was known to despise slackers, including himself whenever he made the mistake of hedging on studying. He was an easy pick for Slytherin prefect in his fifth year, and an even easier pick for Head Boy in his seventh. Better still, his work ethic was matched by his innate affinity for magic.  
  
          A natural talent from a young age, Nicholas flourished as he went from one Hogwarts year to another. By his sixth year, he could cast some charms and jinxes _without_ his wand, whereas Camilla had a hard time doing them _with_ the sodding stick. Camilla only twice managed to summon her corporeal Patronus, hers being a common fox, but Nicholas could summon his at will. His Patronus was the rarest of them all: a dragon, with a chest as large as a boulder and a wingspan that could stretch from one side of a room to the other, a creature that shimmered and glowed white and bright, as all Patronuses did. Nicholas’ Patronus was an incredible sight, and along with his markedly black hair, it earned Nicholas the nickname _“the Black Dragon”_ from his Slytherin housemates. Though only Nicholas ever heard her breathe the words, Camilla loved to call him _“my dragon”_ in whispers in his ear.  
  
          Nicholas was the greatest wizard Hogwarts had seen in years – since Potter himself – and somehow, by some miracle, he was in love with Camilla. She never understood it, but she never took it for granted.  
  
          That afternoon, Camilla ran her forefinger along a shelf in a deep, dimly-lit corner of the massive Hogwarts library, searching for _Ruminations on the Patronus._ The air was thick with the scent of books old and new. Camilla loved that smell. She wished she could be Hogwarts’ Librarian after graduating, but Madam Prince didn’t seem keen on relinquishing that position anytime soon. Camilla’s future was uncertain ... but Nicholas’ wasn’t. He told Camilla he’s already had _“good talks”_ with Headmistress McGonagall about being taken on as assistant instructor for Hogwarts’ Defense against the Dark Arts class. After that, it’d be an easy path to becoming the class’ Professor. The elderly Professor Welter seemed eager to retire, and he already often employed Nicholas as a sort of teacher’s helper.  
  
          Camilla’s finger finally found _Ruminations,_ but her breath caught when she felt two masculine hands snake around her chest and affix themselves to the swell of her breasts. Nicholas’ lips pressed against her cheek, kissing her as his hands slipped under her robes and groped her through her vest. His touch was rough but affectionate, forceful but passionate, and it drew short, breathy gasps from Camilla’s lips. She twisted her body ‘round to face him, and Nicholas put his arms around her and pulled her into his embrace, closing his eyes as he pushed his lips onto hers.  
  
          “Tonight,” Nicholas whispered to her between kisses. “At eleven.”  
  
          “Okay,” Camilla whispered back, her voice quieter than the smacking of their mingling lips.  
  
          Camilla opened her mouth for him and let his tongue find hers as their kiss turned wet and deep. Nicholas’ hands found Camilla’s breasts and butt, while her hands found a fistful of his curly hair and his tie, holding him tight as they kissed. Nicholas pressed his weight into her, forcing Camilla’s back against the bookshelf as he kissed her deeper still. Not needing her feet to keep her in place, Camilla raised her legs and locked them around Nicholas’ waist, pressing her crotch into his. She wondered if – even through all the layers of clothes – Nicholas could feel her heat.  
  
          Large and maze-like as Hogwarts’ library was, Camilla couldn’t believe Nicholas’ boldness to jump her here. It was a crime of passion, no doubt, but Camilla wasn’t complaining. With him upon her, she realized she wanted this as bad as he did. “I’ve been thinking of you all morning,” she mumbled in a rare moment where their tongues were not entwined.  
  
          “I’ve been thinking of you all week,” Nicholas countered, prompting Camilla to smile around their kiss.  
  
          Camilla ground her crotch against his, as if that could somehow quell the heat and lust boiling between her legs. Camilla could hardly believe she was thinking this, but ... why not just do it here? It would be so easy. Just flip up her robes, yank down her skirt, and pull aside her knickers, just enough to get Nicholas inside her, get him thrusting into her ...  
  
          _“Hey!”_ a voice hissed at them.  
  
          Camilla instantly put her feet to the floor as Nicholas tore himself from her, and their eyes snapped open as they turned to face their confronter. It was Henry Lobb, a round, pudgy boy with a fat face and a fatter belly. Fifth-year Hufflepuff prefect and library assistant to Madam Prince. _“A witless buffoon,”_ Nicholas had once called him, and Camilla, soft-hearted as she was, couldn’t help but agree with that sentiment.  
  
          “Have you two lost your bloody minds?” Henry whispered. “Snogging in the library? Blimey, that was _more_ than snogging. I didn’t even know you two were ... _a_ _thing,”_ he muttered, shaking his head.  
  
          Camilla’s heart sank. Her worst fear had come true. She’d been caught. She’d just cost Gryffindor fifteen points, _at least,_ and the secrecy of hers and Nicholas’ relationship was gone now. Lobb wouldn’t keep this to himself. He had no reason to. He’d just discovered what would make up every whisper of gossip for the rest of the year, and maybe even the year after it. _“Have you heard? Nicholas is with Camilla! The Slytherin Head Boy fell for that quiet Gryffindor girl! Henry Lobb said they were all over each other in the library!”_ Camilla could hear their laughs now. Nicholas would be ridiculed, and Camilla dreaded that it would be her fault.  
  
          “What’ve you got to say for yourself?” Henry demanded, though his question seemed more directed to Nicholas. “You’re the Head Boy! You can’t be doing things like this!”  
  
          Calmly, Nicholas straightened his robes and the collar of his shirt – which Camilla had left disheveled – and quietly started towards Henry. Henry kept his gaze on Nicholas’, but his eyes were forced to rise as Nicholas drew nearer and nearer, as Nicholas was nearly a half-foot taller than him. When they finally stood at arm’s length from each other, Nicholas slowly rose his pointing hand and rested his forefinger against Henry’s forehead. Henry’s eyes crossed as they followed the finger. He said nothing, awed into silence.  
  
          _“Obliviate,”_ Nicholas whispered.  
  
          At his commanding word, a flash of green flowed from Nicholas’ finger to Henry’s head, and the pudgy boy’s eyes immediately shifted and faced forward, taking on a blank, thoughtless stare. With Henry’s recent memory wiped clean, Nicholas grabbed Henry’s shoulders and gently turned him around. “Off you go,” Nicholas said as he lightly pushed Henry forward, urging him into a slow, lumbering walk that took him around a corner and out of sight.  
  
          Camilla’s shoulders slackened in relief, and a thankful smile came to her lips. “That wasn’t very nice,” she softly quipped when Nicholas returned to her.  
  
          Nicholas shrugged. “He’s already gotten over it,” he quipped back, smiling with her. He took her hand and kissed it. “Tonight,” he said.  
  
          “Tonight,” she agreed.  
  
          Camilla held _Ruminations_ against her chest as Nicholas strode off, sighing as she watched him.  
  
          There had never been a slower afternoon at Hogwarts. Time seemed sluggish, and Camilla thrice caught herself glancing at a clock in her classes. The night couldn’t come quick enough.  
  
          Camilla spent dinner in the Great Hall just as she’d spent her breakfast, with her nose buried in her books, but her concentration wavered. It had been too long since she and Nicholas had shared a night together, and she was burning for him. She couldn’t get him out of her mind, and though she managed to keep her eyes on the words of her books rather than staring at Nicholas across from her, she couldn’t manage not to reflect on him, on their love.  
  
          Though blood politics and blood supremacy had become harshly silenced topics in Hogwarts, there were still whispers. Camilla had no pedigree to her name. She was a half-blood, with a wizard father but a Muggle mother and two Squib sisters, and the Hughes family was not renowned in the world of wizardry. But Nicholas was a pureblood, or, at least, as pure as purebloods could be. His family, the Slytherin-oriented Thornes, was ancient and celebrated, second in reputation only to the now-disgraced Malfoy family. But, despite that, blood purity meant nothing to Nicholas. Nothing could ever lessen his opinion of his beloved, and that thought warmed Camilla’s heart.  
  
          Camilla knew it was clingy of her to think, but she couldn’t help it; _“Camilla Thorne,”_ ... there was nothing she wanted more.  
  
          When night finally came, Camilla held her eyes wide as she watched the clock, which she saw only thanks to the white moonlight bleeding through the windows. 10:49 P.M ... 10:50.  
  
          Without rising from her bed, Camilla reached her hand out for her nightstand and snatched her wand; a 9 ½-inch rosewood stick with a unicorn tail hair core. She clutched her wand in both hands and held it against her chest as she let Nicholas’ words come to her.  
  
_“Focus your thoughts.” – “Visualize it.” – “Make it so.”_  
  
          Camilla flicked her wand towards herself in an S-shaped flourish and whispered, _“Geminio hominid.”_ A flash of pink light flew from the tip of Camilla’s wand and enveloped her, and then, at her side and under the covers, her body double popped into existence. She peered to her side and gave it a quick examination. It wasn’t a perfect cast; Camilla’s double had a nose a few inches too long and eyes a few inches too far apart, but it would fool someone in the dark. It was good enough. And though its chest rose with seemingly lifelike breath, Camilla’s double was no different than a doll, and it would stay asleep no matter what disturbed it. Nicholas had the created the spell himself, and Camilla was proud that she was able to learn it from him without any difficulty. It wasn’t the first spell Nicholas ever created and taught Camilla. She was certain it wouldn’t be the last.  
  
          Camilla slipped out of bed – careful not to disturb the make of the sheets and covers – and swung her legs down. She pushed her feet into her red-and-gold cotton slippers and darted for her dresser, where she grabbed one of her black robes and threw it over herself, over her pyjamas. She did it all in flawless silence, and none of the other girls in her dorm stirred from their beds, nor so much as groaned in their sleep. Camilla was out of the door and down the stairs no less silently.  
  
          Camilla was mindful of her step as she descended Gryffindor Tower’s long, spiraling staircase. Though she wasn’t sure how she could avoid the attention of a spirit, she did all she could not to disturb Nearly Headless Nick, Gryffindor tower’s resident ghost. Nick was a good friend to Camilla, but she wasn’t sure if he would agree to keep her nighttime travels a secret. The Fat Lady surprisingly allowed Camilla re-entry to Gryffindor Tower at night, but Camilla didn’t know if Nick would be as kind, or, more accurately, as indifferent to Hogwarts’ strict curfew. She assumed not.  
  
          At the bottom of the staircase, Camilla slipped through the Fat Lady’s painting-door and into the Hogwarts castle proper’s seventh floor. “Heading out for another nighttime stroll, dearie?” The Fat Lady asked as she swung shut behind Camilla. Camilla stopped and turned to face her. The Fat Lady was as she always was, garbed in a white toga, wearing a colorful headdress, with a face marked with heavy cosmetics; green eyeshadow, pink blush, and red lipstick.  
  
          “Yes,” Camilla said quietly.  
  
          “I don’t blame you. If I could still walk about, I’d want to stretch my legs too.”  
  
          That seemed rather antithetical to what the Fat Lady was, but Camilla wouldn’t challenge her on it. “Yes, just ... stretching my legs,” Camilla said, nodding dumbly.  
  
          “How long will you be gone this time, dearie? Couple hours again?”  
  
          “Um, yes,” Camilla said, nodding again. “Couple hours.”  
  
          With that, Camilla turned away and dashed down the near hall. She did not sprint, but she moved briskly, partly from her fear of wandering Hogwarts at night and partly from her desire to be with Nicholas as soon as she could. After a quick stride through the Hall of Hexes, Camilla had arrived at her destination, standing in the seventh floor’s left corridor, with her back to the vast, moving tapestry that depicted Barnabas the Barmy miserably failing to tutor a troop of trolls in ballet. The Room of Requirement was here, hidden by strong, complex magics. It was a chamber heavily enchanted with the sort of charms Camilla didn’t think possible, capable of instantly transforming its interior into whatever its occupant desired. Camilla didn’t know how Nicholas discovered this room or how he managed to bend it to his will, but in all honesty, it didn’t surprise her that he did. Nicholas was special like that. Gifted in ways no one else was. If he wanted something, he made it his.  
  
          Nicholas had told Camilla that to make the room’s door appear, Camilla had to pace back and forth in that hall while thinking to herself what she needed – what she _required_ – and to speak the thought in her head as clearly as she could. Camilla had done it dozens of times, but despite that, she always feared she would fail to summon it.  
  
          Camilla clasped her hands together behind herself as she started pacing, five steps each way, back and forth, again and again, as she thought to herself what she needed.  
  
          _I need Nicholas ... I need Nicholas ... I need Nicholas._  
  
          After the third back-and-forth, Camilla turned to the wall just as the door shimmered into view. Camilla spared a quick glance to each side of the hall before hurrying to the door, swinging it open, and slipping within just before it again disappeared.  
  
          Inside, the Room of Requirement was unlike she’d ever seen it. She’d seen it like an old-fashioned Hogsmeade brewery with kegs, bottles, and mugs of butterbeer, she’d seen it like an alchemy laboratory furnished with various desks lined with glowing poultices and smoking beakers, she’d seen it in all those ways and in many, many more, but she’d never seen it like this. Camilla didn’t quite know how to describe it. There was nothing like this in Hogwarts, nor back home in Wales, nor anywhere in the British Isles for that matter. The floor was a sea of white, fluffy carpeting, dotted with variously-sized pillows, and the walls were lined with long, beige drapes that each touched the floor. The room was dimly lit, illuminated only by single ornate chandelier that hung from the ceiling far above her, and it seemed to be set at only half its standard brightness. Strangely, there was no furniture in sight, but Camilla knew that could change at a moment’s notice. And even if it _didn’t_ ... she’d be fine on the floor.  
  
          “Do you like it?” Nicholas asked as he suddenly appeared at Camilla’s side.  
  
          “It’s cozy,” she said, smiling as she looked to him.  
  
          “I was looking more for ... _‘erotic,’”_ he mused as he turned his head and met her eyes, a devilish grin curling around his lips.  
  
          “That too,” Camilla said, nodding, and they both chuckled.  
  
          Camilla turned to face him. Nicholas put his hand against her face and affectionately ran his fingers along her cheek, and Camilla’s smile widened at his touch.  
  
          “I missed you,” he said.  
  
          Camilla put her hand over his. “I missed you more.”  
  
          Camilla rose to her tiptoes and closed her eyes as she sought Nicholas’ lips for a kiss, but she opened them again when she felt Nicholas put two of his fingers against her mouth, stopping her. “I ... I want to do something different tonight,” he said, speaking softly, nearly in a whisper. His piercingly green eyes searched Camilla’s in a stern, pointed gaze.  
  
          Camilla let herself go flat-footed again, her smile chased away by the rejection. She wished they were kissing.  
  
          “I want _you_ to do something different,” Nicholas clarified, letting his fingers slip from her lips.  
  
          “Anything,” Camilla said, and she meant it. She’d do _anything._ She’d gone long enough without him already. She just wanted the wait to be over.  
  
          Nicholas gently nodded his head, his gaze still meeting hers. “Don’t worry, I think it’ll come naturally for you,” he assured her. “And you can stop me if you want,” he added. He grabbed Camilla’s robes by the shoulders and pushed them down, dropping them to the floor, leaving her in her checkered, blue-and-white pyjamas. “But I don’t think you will.”  
  
          Camilla was certain she wouldn’t.  
  
          Nicholas unfastened the buttons of Camilla’s shirt one by one, and Camilla used the moment to help Nicholas shrug out of his own robes, which he did silently and without taking his hands from her chest. When Camilla’s last button was freed, Nicholas immediately parted her shirt, freeing her breasts to the air, and his eyes caught and lingered on them. They were modest in size but perky, with a pleasing shapeliness to them. They were no less pale than the rest of her flesh, milky-white in complexion, with brightly-pink nipples that already stood stiff and on-end, flush with heat, blood, and arousal. They had been like that all day, since their brief embrace in the library.  
  
          Nicholas’ warm hands closed around her breasts, and Camilla drew a quiet gasp as they did. His fingers pressed deep into her soft, hot flesh, sinking as far as they’d go, while his thumbs teased and flicked across her nipples. She sighed as he fondled her, squeezing and kneading her breasts in his hands. The heat of her flesh only grew hotter from his touch, and Camilla’s tongue thoughtlessly left her mouth to gently moisten her lips. She peered up at Nicholas, but he didn’t meet her gaze, his eyes being too preoccupied with her breasts, entranced by her bare flesh.  
  
          Camilla had never thought her breasts were pretty, and before she fell in love with Nicholas, she had feared that no boy would ever fancy them ... but she was wrong. Nicholas gazed upon them – and touched them – with reverence and delight, with just as much lust as love. And it wasn’t only her breasts. He revered _every_ part of her. Camilla had always thought her lips were too thin to be alluring, but Nicholas kissed them with passion, as though they were full and luscious, and though Camilla had never thought herself curvy, Nicholas would always run his hands slowly and sensually along her body, as though her frame was a flaring hourglass befitting of a golden-haired Greek goddess.  
  
          Nicholas did what Camilla once didn’t think was possible. He made her feel beautiful.  
  
          Finally, Nicholas’ gaze left Camilla’s breasts to lock again with her eyes. Then, suddenly, Nicholas pressed his body into hers, forcing her to backpedal until she was against the wall. He pinned her there as he finally granted Camilla’s silent wish and pushed his lips against hers. Their mouths opened at once, and their tongues quickly met and mingled, dancing together until they were wet with saliva not wholly their own. As they kissed, Camilla grabbed Nicholas’ cheek with one hand and took a clenching fistful of his black, curly hair with the other. For his part, as their lips and tongues noisily met, Nicholas unbuttoned his own pyjama shirt and shrugged out of it, baring his chest of short-trimmed hair. Nicholas was lean and fit, but he wasn’t quite muscular; more lanky than burly. As soon as his shirt fell to the carpeted floor, Camilla’s hand left his cheek and darted to his chest.  
  
          Just when Camilla became content to never again take her lips from his, Nicholas suddenly tore himself from her and broke their kiss, rearing his head back to glare his eyes into hers.  
  
          “Whose are you?” he asked in an icy whisper.  
  
          It took a short moment for Camilla’s mind to clear the cloud of lust, but when it finally did, Camilla quickly found the answer. “Yours,” she said.  
  
          Nicholas’ mouth twitched, but he gave no other response before suddenly returning to her embrace and again aggressively planting his lips onto hers, and Camilla let out a moaning sigh when he did. And yet again, a moment later, Nicholas once more tore himself from Camilla to again glare at her, but this time, their faces were inches closer than before.  
  
          “Who do you belong to?” he asked, his voice now more of a quiet growl than a whisper.  
  
          This time, Camilla’s answer was immediate. “You,” she said, her blue eyes meeting his dominant gaze with one of meek timidness, her lips nearly pouting.  
  
          “And you’ll always do as I say, won’t you?”  
  
          Camilla nodded. “Yes,” she whispered, and it was the truth. There was nothing she wouldn’t do for Nicholas, not outside the bedroom and _certainly_ not within it. “I love you,” she said.  
  
          As if by reflex, Nicholas’ mouth opened to reciprocate her words, just as he’d done a thousand times before, but he caught himself and stayed silent. His look of intensity softened into a half-smirk crooking around his lip, and he said, “Actions speak louder.”  
  
          With that, the wall behind Camilla magically shimmered as a bed clad in extravagant covers and pillows emerged from it, sweeping her legs out from under her before promptly doing the same with Nicholas. Camilla’s heart skipped a beat as she fell onto the soft bed on the flat of her back, but Nicholas knowingly broke his fall with his arms, stopping himself from thumping onto her. He put his lips to hers and kissed her again, but it was the briefest kiss yet. There was now a neediness to his touch, a heat radiating from his flesh, and a lust burning his eyes; the time for kissing and teasing had passed. Nicholas needed more. Camilla was no different.  
  
          Nicholas shifted downwards, moving down Camilla’s frame and closer to the bed’s edge, and after his hands found the waistband of her pyjama bottoms, he pulled them down and took them with him. He dropped to his knees at the foot of the bed, and when Camilla’s pants arrived at her ankles, Nicholas quickly pulled them off and tossed them away. He put his hands against Camilla’s smooth thighs to part them, but Camilla opened them for him before he had the chance, and Nicholas’ eyes immediately caught on what was revealed between them.  
  
          The hairs of Camilla’s cunt were fine and soft, dark-gold and nearly brown, trimmed short with a razor, shaved into a triangle that spanned her outer folds but stopped at the creases of her legs, which she’d shaved bare. It was a simple, neat trim. Nothing fancy or stressful, but tidy and sexy. Her cunt itself was a crinkled pair of pink, flowering lips partly tucked into her short-haired cleft. _“A plump pussy,”_ Nicholas often affectionately called it. Camilla would always giggle when he said that.  
  
          Nicholas ran his thumb across the gash of her labial lips, and Camilla gave a strong flinch at that first touch. It wasn’t from any sort of pain or discomfort, no, only the opposite; Camilla had been lusting for Nicholas all day, and her arousal had made her sensitive enough for that brief touch to ignite her nerves with pleasure. She breathed a slow, ragged breath as she felt her cunny moisten further, were that even possible. But Nicholas did not stop there, and he gave Camilla no chance to prepare for the pleasure still to come. His green eyes flicked upwards and met Camilla’s for just a brief, fleeting glance – still smirking – before they turned downwards again as he closed his mouth onto her cunt and pushed his tongue into her tunnel.  
  
          Air filled Camilla’s lungs in a gust by a sharp, hissing gasp as Nicholas twirled his tongue inside her; a wriggling mass of warm, wet flesh submerged in a hole that was no less so. Heat spread through Camilla in a wave, sending a tingling everywhere it passed, and a moan loudly left her lips as it washed over her. Nicholas knew _just_ the touch to pleasure her, _just_ the right way to flick and brush his tongue inside her. He was masterful. While his mouth and tongue stayed affixed and inserted into her soaked cunt, elsewhere, his hands roamed Camilla’s body freely, giving her firm but sensual touches everywhere he knew pleasured her most; her inner thighs, which he grazed with his nails, and her soft breasts, which he squeezed in his fingers.  
  
          At the very moment she began to crave it, Nicholas broke the seal of his lips on Camilla’s twat to instead turn his attention a few inches upwards, where his tongue found and flicked at her clitoris. Camilla’s legs tensed when she felt that lick, but Nicholas was merciless, and he exhaled only a quick breath onto her mons before leaning closer and pressing his tongue against her clit, smothering the pink, twitching button under hot, moist flesh. Camilla jammed her eyes shut as burning pleasure rocked her frame, and her chest shot forward as her hands darted for Nicholas’ head and took two clenching fistfuls of his thick, black curls. Unfazed by the fingers coiling through his hair, Nicholas kept his eyes closed as he focused on dragging the flat of his tongue up and down his lover’s stiff button. Camilla’s chest heaved with breath, and just when the overwhelming sensation threatened to turn to discomfort, Nicholas drew back his tongue, letting Camilla’s clit freely breathe the air again, at which point he promptly closed his mouth once more onto the bottom of her cunt, over her tunnel, and slotted his tongue back into her hole.  
  
          Little time passed before Camilla was at her end, and she let her fingers slip free of Nicholas’ hair as she fell again onto the flat of her back, content to let herself sink as far into the mattress as gravity would take her. When the final flick of Nicholas’ tongue finished her, a long, whining moan wisped up from her lungs and out her lips, and her thighs and groin visibly clenched and trembled from the power of tight, rhythmic contractions.  
  
          Camilla closed her eyes and lay there utterly still, paralyzed by both a near-inability and a lack of desire to move. She felt Nicholas’ tongue leave her, and that was the only warning she was given before he pressed his lips against hers. When she felt his tongue probe at her, she opened her lips and let it enter her mouth to play with her own. His noticeably carried the taste of her cunt, and Camilla savored the flavor of it; a little sour, a little metallic ... but delightful.  
  
          Nicholas was right. That spoke far louder than any three or four words ever could. And he was never one to say things that didn’t need to be said.  
  
          Almost of its own will, Camilla’s hand reached downwards and slithered under the waistband of Nicholas’ pants, where it soon found his cock. He was already stiff and turgid, already flushed with hot blood. He was uncut, and his member was smooth to Camilla’s touch. He was sizable, but not too large or too long. Camilla hadn’t any clue whether Nicholas was _“big,”_ – his was the only cock she had ever seen – but that meant nothing to her. It didn’t matter. To Camilla, his was perfect. _That_ mattered.  
  
          While they still kissed, with their lips still mingling and their tongues still dancing, Camilla coiled her fingers around Nicholas’ length and brought them up and down in slow, gentle strokes. He only throbbed harder under her soft touch. Camilla could feel his cock twitch to the beat of his heart. When her hand reached the apex of a particularly long stroke, Camilla brushed her thumb against his hot, swollen cockhead. The touch prompted a single bead of pre-cum to ooze from him, and Camilla swiftly smeared it away, giving his length some amount of moisture of his own body’s making.  
  
          When Nicholas wordlessly broke their kiss, Camilla opened her eyes and met his, but to her surprise, she saw that he was paying little mind to the hand that was stroking him. Instead, his gaze was a strange one, of green eyes glimmering not just with love, but with something else, as well. Something Camilla hadn’t seen from him before.  
  
          Nicholas raised his hand and gently cupped her cheek. “Do you know what they say about young Thorne men?” he asked.  
  
          Camilla lightly shook her head, still stroking him.  
  
          Nicholas’ hand shifted downwards from her cheek, traveling along the feminine curve of her jaw, until he held her chin. Then, as his eyes still lingered on Camilla’s, a smug smirk came to his lips, as it so often did. “They say we’re ... _fatherly.”_  
  
          Camilla knitted her brows, and her stroking hand fell still.  
  
          Nicholas’ smirk weakened, looking almost hurt by Camilla’s confusion, as though her puzzlement saddened him. “What’s the ultimate way a woman can show a man love?” he asked her.  
  
          Camilla began to feel stupid. What way was there to show him her love that she hadn’t already done before?  
  
          Nicholas leaned forward, brushing his lips against Camilla’s ear, and he whispered, “Bearing his brood.”  
  
          When the last word left him, Nicholas grabbed Camilla by her upper arms and pushed her forward, into the center of the bed, and planted his knees between her open legs. Camilla opened her mouth to speak – to say what exactly she wasn’t quite sure – but Nicholas spoke first. He prodded his forefinger into her belly, just beneath her navel, and uttered, _“Fertillus maxima.”_ At those words, a softly-white light glowed on his fingertip, but only briefly, as it soon jumped to Camilla’s flesh and seeped within. After the light had burrowed inside her, a fiercely-burning pain suddenly struck Camilla’s very core, but a moment later it was gone just as quick as it came, leaving in its wake a soothing, far gentler warmth.  
  
          Nicholas tugged down his pants and kicked them away. “You want to be Camilla Thorne,” he mused, his voice low and thick with dominance and aggression, “Then that’s what you’ll be.”  
  
          Camilla had never said that to him. She’d never voiced those thoughts. But ... it was never much of a secret, was it? Nicholas knew her better than she knew herself. He could read her. He could see her soul.  
  
          Nicholas grabbed the base of his cock and scooted closer, and Camilla’s legs thoughtlessly widened for him, from both desire and instinct. He prodded his crown against her pink, sticky cunny, and Camilla looked to her crotch and watched – breathing a soft, pleasured whine while she did – as he rubbed himself up and down her flower, wetting himself with her moisture. Just when she expected him to thrust into her, he fell still. Camilla looked to his face and found him glaring at her.  
  
          “Or are you going to stop me?” he asked.  
  
          Camilla’s mouth was still open. She had never closed it after she’d first intended to speak. “Never,” she said, her lips only barely moving as she breathed the words.  
  
          Nicholas thrusted into her, hard enough to rock her body, and they groaned together as he drove his cock to the hilt of her cunt, into its rightful home. He sheathed all of his length inside her in that push, every last inch, until her pink lips kissed his groin and the trimmed shorthairs of their crotches mingled in black and gold. Camilla was a snug fit; she could feel his member pulse inside her, throbbing against her walls, twitching with his heart, just as it did earlier. He was big enough to make Camilla ache after the first few times, but she’d since grown to love the way he filled her, the way he rubbed her from end to end and pressed against her walls.  
  
          Nicholas was the only boy Camilla had ever been with. She’d given her virginity to him, and with every time his cock pushed and pulled in her cunt, every time she felt him thick and hot and hard inside her, she was reminded that there was no one she’d rather have given it to.  
  
          The first thrust was an aggressive one, strong enough for Nicholas’ balls to audibly clap against the crack of Camilla’s arse, but the thrusts that followed it were markedly gentler. He eased himself through her tight tunnel in smooth, sensual strokes, his hips moving slowly. His cock already shone with Camilla’s moisture; glimmeringly slick from tip to root. His crown would partly slip from her flower for only a brief instant before swiftly pushing back inside, returning to Camilla’s wetness and warmth. Her hands balled into fists at her sides, her nerves buzzing with bliss, still incredibly sensitive from her orgasm, and again the breath fatefully left her lips in a pleasured groan in the very same moment as Nicholas.  
  
          As the lust and desire grew in him, Nicholas’ thrusts hastened, and his chest rose and fell quicker and quicker with breath as his thrusting hips matched that cadence. As his balls again began audibly clapping into her, he reached for Camilla’s chest and groped and pawed at her breasts, bouncing and squeezing them. He pinched his thumb and forefinger around her pink teat, and when that drew a gasp from Camilla, his hand shot downwards, to her crotch, where that same thumb pressed into her clitoris. Camilla’s shoulders bunched together and shuddered. When Nicholas rubbed his thumb inwards against her little button, that was the last she could bear. She cried out as her loins again sang with pleasure, and her eyes widened as the muscles of her groin spasmed in ways she could never manage on her own. In her bliss, her cunny tightened around Nicholas’ thrusting cock, and that added pressure was the last he could withstand. Camilla knew the feel of his final strokes.  
  
          Though she wished it would last till the morning, Camilla knew their lovemaking was a journey with a beginning and an end. As Nicholas’ finish swiftly neared him, Camilla peered up at him and looked to him with needy, half-lidded eyes, silently pleading for him to grace her with a kiss, and when he saw her, he leaned forward and eased his weight onto her, pressing her breasts beneath his chest, as he took her lips in his own.  
  
          “I’m close,” he grunted, speaking between kisses.  
  
          The next words were off Camilla’s tongue without a second thought.  
  
          “Inside me,” she whispered. Her hands slipped down to Nicholas’ tight arse to help guide him into her.  
  
          Nicholas reared back and grabbed her by the nape of her neck. “Beg me,” he growled at her, his hips still thrusting, his cock still pushing and pulling inside her.  
  
          “Please,” she said, her eyes flitting across the green of his. “Inside me. Please.”  
  
          Nicholas closed his eyes and pulled Camilla into another deep kiss, and the thrust that came next was the last. He hammered his hips into her crotch, pushing his cock to her hilt, and his crown kissed her cervix as it twitched out its gift, spurting his seed into her womb, to the deepest it could reach. As he filled her, that intense burning sensation again sparked in Camilla, painful enough to make her gasp. It lasted longer this time, but Nicholas kissed her deeper when she grimaced, knowingly soothing her pain, showering her with his love through the worst of it. There was no doubting what had been done when the burning was gone.  
  
          After he’d emptied himself, Nicholas withdrew from Camilla and collapsed at her side, and Camilla was quick to take him in her arms and snuggle with him when he did, pecking kisses against his cheek. Nicholas lowered his arm and grabbed her waist, holding her close, and he turned his head, taking Camilla’s next peck to his lips. She smiled as they began to kiss.  
  
          Beneath them, Camilla’s body carried marks of Nicholas. A rope of white drooled from the pink lips of her gash, and above it, a few strands of black rested among the gold hairs of her cunt.  
  
          There were only four or so hours before they’d have to return to their dorms. Camilla dreaded that moment, but it wasn’t upon them just yet. She’d treasure what was left.


End file.
